Alana was sitting beside my sister-in-law, Ellie, and Ellie’s son, Mason.

Their plates were piled with fried chicken, rice, rolls, cheese, and snacks.

Even the chocolates I had bought specifically for both boys were sitting on the table.

But Dustin wasn’t with them.

My seven-year-old was sitting alone in an old armchair across the room.

His head was down.

In his hands was a small plastic plate holding a plain boiled potato.

Nothing more.

When he saw me, he immediately tried to move the plate out of sight.

That tiny gesture hurt more than anything else.

He looked embarrassed.

As though somehow he had done something wrong.

Alana quickly stood.

“Clarissa! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”

I put the groceries down without answering.

Then I walked over to Dustin and knelt beside him.

“Sweetheart, why are you sitting here?”

His eyes immediately moved toward his grandmother.

“Grandma said I couldn’t eat with them.”

I looked at Alana.

“Why?”

“He’s being disciplined.”

“For what?”

“He was running around the garden, touching things, bothering Mason, making noise. He needs to learn boundaries.”

Dustin shook his head.

“My ball rolled near the flowers, Mom. I didn’t hurt anything.”

Then he whispered,

“Grandma said I was making everyone uncomfortable.”

Alana sighed dramatically.

“There. He always has an explanation.”

I looked at Mason’s overflowing plate.

“Was Mason disciplined for anything today?”

Ellie laughed.

“My son knows how to behave.”

Then she added,

“Mom has spent weeks helping you with Dustin. Maybe a little gratitude would be appropriate.”

That almost made me laugh.

Two weeks earlier, Alana had practically insisted that Dustin spend part of the summer at the country house.

Before leaving him there, I had stocked both refrigerators.